


when no one is watching

by hotdogharvester



Series: "every breath you take" is not a love song [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, F/M, Forced Masturbation, Forced Orgasm, Kidnapping, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Obsession, Sexual Abuse, Stalking, Victim Blaming, Xenophilia, this is not a good situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 20:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17587985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotdogharvester/pseuds/hotdogharvester
Summary: This continues from With Teeth. After Megatron's defection and Tarn's mental breakdown, the commander of the DJD abducts a human administrative assistant who was working with the Autobots. Bad shit is happening. Heed the tags for the love of god.





	when no one is watching

Sometimes, when Tarn is whispering in your ear and you can’t remember how long you’ve been stuck here, it feels like you’re in a car speeding toward the edge of a cliff. Like it’s too late to turn the wheel and the best you can hope for is to get a good view of the horizon before your vehicle succumbs to gravity and the ocean swallows you body and soul.

        It’s hard to stay focused on the future. If you’re very determined—and very lucky—you can stick this out long enough to gain a little trust, and from there you just have to wait for someone to let their guard down, and then you can escape. Maybe. Until then, playing along within reason and keeping your fear to yourself is your best bet.

        The days blend together. Every “morning” one of the DJD comes to take you on a blindfolded walk around the ship so your muscles don’t atrophy. Tarn doesn’t trust you enough to let you see the layout of the _Peaceful Tyranny_. It’s probably the only good judgment call he’s made since he decided to bring you aboard.

        After that, it’s time for the first of your two meals of the day. Each, of course, is served by Tarn. He makes time for things that matter. Number one is usually a packet meal of the “savory” variety. Later on you get the “sweet.” They both taste a great deal like fiberglass insulation, but you aren’t wasting away, so there must be something of worth in the ingredients. Even if they’re packed with carcinogens you probably won’t live long enough to have to deal with the consequences of the meals anyway.

        Once you’ve been properly fueled Tarn spends the next three to four hours instructing you in Decepticon history and ideology. Some of it is interesting. You wouldn’t have gone to work for the Autobots if you had no interest in mechanical life, after all. None of what he tells you is strictly speaking a _lie_ , but it isn’t all necessarily true. Battles that you had previously been taught as muddled, regrettable affairs for both sides become stark, gory triumphs for the Decepticon empire. Unambiguous war crimes become excusable. Beneficial, even, from a certain point of view. The war that ended hasn’t ended. Not really. Not for him.

        You haven’t decided if being alone in the cell for hours on end is worse than being stuck with Tarn. The lack of stimulation when he’s gone is…bad. Before he burned your apartment to the ground Tarn grabbed a handful of your paper books. You’ve been through them all twice since your capture. No data pads allowed without supervision; those could be hacked and turned into communication devices. Even if you had a whole library at your disposal it probably wouldn’t be enough to distract you from your situation.

        The days aren’t all the same, though. Sometimes Tarn carries you off to his quarters—blindfolded, of course—and makes you listen to old Cybertronian operas. He holds you in his lap and tells you about the composers while you try to sneak glances of your surroundings. A couple times he’s pinned you down and marked your mouth and neck with smothering kisses, growling “my little soloist” in between bites, but never as intensely as that first time. It never seems to go anywhere, thank goodness.

        Besides that, in the morning you don’t always get the same Decepticon leading you around. Vos accompanies you the most often, then Helex, then Kaon, who you assume is busy doing actual work most of the time. That’s fine. Kaon tries to make conversation sometimes and it’s never not creepy as all hell. He never touches you but at the same time he makes no secret of his fetishistic interest in you.

        Tesarus only led you around once. He guided you into walls, and laughed when you tripped. When Tarn came by to feed you he zeroed in on the scuffs on your palms, and got so angry that the first word out of his mouth exploded all the light bulbs in the ceiling.

        Later that same day, as Vos begrudgingly replaced the bulbs, you swore you could hear screams echoing from the vent in the ceiling. Tesarus was never assigned to your morning exercise again.

        That was just one notable day. There’s another day—a much worse day—where things take a turn, and playing along becomes intolerable.

  *      •      •



The packet meal tastes the same. There’s no giveaway in the moment that it’s been tampered with. You struggle not to dwell on that fact in the aftermath. If you try too hard to look for warning signs you think you’ll go completely insane. What could you have done, anyway? Refused to eat it? Gone hungry? Choices are a tricky thing on the _Peaceful Tyranny_ , in the confines of your cell. Choices don’t really exist for you anymore.

        Tarn is droning on about yet another heavily annotated passage from Megatron’s memoir when you start to notice your own arousal. This has never happened before: not even as a fear response. Sure, you feel something when Tarn blindfolds you and marks you all over with love bites, but that’s different. He has his mouth on you then. He isn’t talking at you about his own stupid opinions on historical minutiae.

        You hold your breath, hoping somehow to strangle the feeling away. That doesn’t work. It intensifies. You shift back and forth in his lap and have to suppress a gasp. Moving your thighs was a mistake. All you want to do now is move them again, up and down, back and forth, and you freeze. A little grunt catches in your throat.

        Tarn pauses his narration.

        “Are you all right? How do you feel?”

        Your heart is beating in your groin.

        “I feel _sick_ ,” you reply.

        “No, you don’t,” he whispers, drawing an arm around your midsection.

        You don’t trust yourself to struggle without moaning.

        “Oh, you would know, wouldn’t you? What was in that food?”

        Tarn drags one hand through your hair and you hiss. It feels so _good_ but it would feel so much better if he would put that hand somewhere lower.

        “Never fear. It was only a stimulant, of a kind. I want to make this easier for you. It’s nothing harmful: nothing you couldn’t wait out if you were very determined.”

        You grit your teeth and try to think of anything but how all the nerves in a certain area of your body are lighting up like a Christmas tree. The feeling is as strong as any allergic reaction, sharper than sunburn and poison ivy. The slightest jostling sends electric waves crashing through your whole body.

        “What do you want to do right now?”

        The mouth area of Tarn’s mask is pressed directly into your ear. You can feel the vibration of every word that leaves his mouth.

        “Can you smell yourself? I can smell you.”

        His hands haven’t moved to where you need them. But you won’t ask. You _won’t_.

        “You’re a monster,” you hiss.

        He only holds you tighter.

        “Get out and let me deal with this myself,” you say, each syllable a trial.

        “I can help you,” he says, singsong.

        Your body spasms.

        “If you’re waiting for me to…ask for it, you’re gonna be waiting a _long time_. I’m not a fucking animal. You’re not gonna _break_ me like this.”

        You almost believe it.

        You want to be touched so badly it hurts—it actually _hurts_ —and tears are streaming from your eyes by the time Tarn finally loses patience and shoves a hand down your pants. You thought you would be horrified, and on some level you are, but the violation takes a backseat to the indescribable relief of warm fingers on your labia.

        “Oh _fuck_ ,” you hiss.

        “Is that what you want?”

        It isn’t. It _is_. Not from him, but there’s no one else. If you were alone this wouldn’t be happening. Tarn is _right there_ and he wants to help you. So what if it’s all his fault? No one else has ever wanted you as much as he does.

        No one else has _ever_ wanted you as much as he does.

        Tarn presses the tip of one finger inside you and you can’t help bucking against him, a hoarse groan escaping from your throat.

        “You want me to help you?” he purrs.

        “Go to hell,” you choke out.

        He tugs his finger forward, stretching you just a little, and the feeling sends a jolt of need arcing through you. He teases the tip of another finger and it takes every scrap of your resolve to tell him no.

        “Not here.”

        “Hm?”

        “I said not _here_. They’ll hear me.”

        Tarn pauses.

        “What do you mean?”

        “I heard screams, I–”

        It takes you a couple deep breaths to get yourself back together.

        “When you punished…Tesarus. I heard it. I h-heard the screaming. If I could hear out of the room then someone else could hear _in_. Not here. I don’t…someone might be listening.”

        Tarn hums in understanding.

        “You want more privacy for this.”

_I don’t want this. I don’t want you. I wish I were anywhere else but if I don’t get off in the next five minutes I think my heart might explode._

        “I don’t want anyone else listening or w-watching.”

        “I can arrange that,” Tarn purrs. “My quarters are soundproofed. Do you want me to take you there?”

        A sick sense of inevitability settles on you like a heavy shroud.

        _I don’t want this. I don’t want this but if I don’t do something about it I-I-I–_

        “Fine. Just, hurry, I can’t–”

        Tarn bundles you close to his chest and powerwalks out of the room. He doesn’t even stop to blindfold you. If you weren’t so messed up you might try to take stock of what little you can see of the ship’s layout. It’s the only time you’ve been able to see the halls outside your cell but you’re in no condition to appreciate it.

        You’re shivering all over and spots are dancing in your eyes when the heavy door of Tarn’s habsuite slides shut behind the two of you. The features of the room are lost on you in this state. Megatron himself could be hanging from the ceiling and you would be none the wiser.

        Tarn is holding you so that your arms are pinned against his chassis. Even though you would rather eat a bowl of wet cat food than do anything sexual in his vicinity, you’re still struggling to free your hands.

        “Put me down,” you hiss, almost past the point of words.

        “Just a moment. I have to grab something.”

        He pulls something out of a drawer somewhere out of sight.

        “I wouldn’t be so callous as to _take advantage_ of you when you’re in such a vulnerable state. You may use this instead.”

        The thing in his hand looks remarkably similar to a dildo of yours.

        “I took it from your previous residence,” he explains, confirming your suspicions. “I thought it might be comforting to have something familiar on hand.”

        _That’s so fucking sick_ , you think.

        Tarn sits down on the berth with his back to the wall, still holding you. Sure, he might not “take advantage” of you in the strictest sense of that phrase, but he’s not about to leave either. He catches both your hands in one of his and pulls you flush against his chest before placing the sex toy between your thighs. Tarn pauses, as if waiting for something, and releases your hands.

        You’re almost shaking too badly to grab it. Gripping the toy in your left hand sends a cacophony of feedback to your brain. Pins and needles are dancing in your extremities; it feels like a portal to another dimension is about to open in your groin.

        “Rather be _alone_ for this,” you grit out.

        “Too bad,” Tarn replies.

        He’s not going to give you privacy. Of fucking course he’s not. Unwilling to concede anything to him, but unable to resist the abominable heat pulsing between your legs, you slide the toy under the waistband of your pants.

        _I am still myself. This will not last forever. I will get through this._

        This won’t break you. He might take your dignity but you know, even in this altered state, that you have an irreducible core that no trauma or humiliation can destroy. You know this. You don’t necessarily believe it but that simple fact is all you have to cling to right now.

        Normally you have to work up to this with two and then three fingers before easing it inside you. In this moment, it slips in with barely any resistance, and you don’t even try to suppress the moan that spirals from your mouth when the head butts against your G-spot. Just get it done as quickly as possible. Eyes shut, lip bitten, you clear your mind as much as you can and work yourself up to two perfunctory orgasms in quick succession. The first one passes silently but during the second you can’t stop yourself from throwing your head back and whimpering. It’s such a relief to release the tension that you almost don’t care about making noise.

        “Mm,” Tarn purrs, pulling you just a little closer. “Even now you’re still trying to retain some semblance of composure. I love that about you. However, I’m still thrilled at the prospect of seeing you lose all control.”

        “I’ll never forgive you for this,” you mutter.

        Tarn huffs. He snatches both your hands in his again and leans down as far as he can, his bulk forcing you to hunch forward. The dildo is sliding out of you and you can’t stop it with your hands restrained.

        “You weren’t anywhere near the site of the Decepticon invasion of Earth.”

        The bottom of his mask is grazing your cranium.

        “I read your personnel file, of course. I wanted to know everything I could about you, but it didn’t tell me much of anything important. I was looking for an explanation but I didn’t find one. Tell me, when did you realize you were a xenophile?”

        A chill scuttles down your spine. You try to pull your hands from his grasp even though you know it’s pointless.

        “I wonder if it was before or after you joined the Autobots,” he continues. “If it was before, well…it makes one wonder about your dedication to diplomacy. But as far as I know, at least during your last employ, you never pursued any cross-species dalliances. Are you just that committed to professionalism? Or…was this a very recent development? Did working with Cybertronians _awaken_ something in you?”

        “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

        Just deny it. He doesn’t have proof. Surely if he did he would have mentioned it before now: something private and shameful to hold over your head.

        “There was more than one camera planted in your apartment. The second was in your bedroom. I’ve seen your browsing history as well. You have very _specific_ taste in pornography, don’t you? Nothing but Cybertronians and human women.”

        Your heartbeat kicks up another notch. You can feel it in every cell.

        “I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

        Deny. Deny deny deny. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. You never really wanted anything like this, and even if you did, who cares? He has no right.

        “You’re beautiful when you come undone, you know. I watched you from afar so many times. My little soloist. I thought you were only beautiful when you worked or sang but I was wrong, wasn’t I? I never would have taken you if I had thought there was no chance of you ever desiring someone like me. If I hadn’t tracked down that one piece of erotica you kept revisiting I might have just killed you. So there’s no reason to hide. Not here. Not anymore.”

        His cooling fans have switched on. A low setting, but still. This can’t be happening.

        “Even if there were any truth to what you were saying,” and there is, there _is_ , more often than not you drifted off to sleep with visions of anonymous robots spreading your legs, “what I do in private is none of your goddamn business.”

        Tarn’s grip tightens and his voice drops to a growl.

        “It is my business, actually. It IS my business. You could have stayed on your miserable home planet but instead you decided to involve yourself in the affairs of Cybertronians. If you had declined that assignment on The Big Conversation then you never would have come to my attention. You chose to meddle, and now you’re facing consequences for it. You laid yourself out like a gift and now you have the gall to be offended that someone was _paying attention_?”

        Tarn reaches down, palming your groin with his free hand, and slams the toy back in as far as it will go, shocking a full-bodied yell out of your throat.

        “Yes, that’s good. I want you to _sing_ for me. I want to hear you keening in ecstasy. I want to empty myself inside you and feel you climax from within. I want you so worked up I could tip you over the edge with a single word.”

        He releases your hands but only long enough to stand and pin you against the nearest wall, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling your clothed sex flush against his interface panel. The toy is still inside you; you can feel yourself spasmodically clenching around it, suggesting a third climax isn’t far away.

        “Stop. I’m telling you to stop. Put me down and get away from me you–”

        “Do you know what I would do if only I had the opportunity?”

        Tarn seizes your flailing hands and pins them over your head. His own body is supporting your weight, so he can use one hand to keep your arms out of the way while sliding the other under the waistband of your pants.

        “ _Don’t!_ Don’t you fucking dare.”

        But he does, and when his fingers find your clit—fierce and frantic in their motions, but not so fierce as to be painful, lighting off razor-bright bursts of pleasure—your whole body shudders in overstimulation.

        “I would pin you to the door of Autobot headquarters and take you until you faint. I would play you like the most exquisite instrument. Did you ever fantasize about being bent over your desk and _used_? When all the cretins and hindrances to the Decepticon empire have been eliminated, I’ll do exactly that. I’ll take you back to that office and christen the ruins with our ardor. Oh, I want you _so much_. You’re so helpless but you still pull away. It’s _maddening_. If I had a little less self-control I’d take you right now against this wall.”

        Tarn’s engines rumble so loud you can feel the vibrations in your teeth.

        “I know what you like. I know what you dream of when you’re alone. I can give you all that and more, so much more. Forget your reservations for a moment. Imagine it’s me inside you: your body molding around my spike, my transfluid filling you. Not a toy or some imaginary brute, but someone who _cares_ about you. Someone who sees everything you try to conceal and still wants you, not in _spite_ of your desires but _because_ of them. Yes, that’s it, lose yourself, let it happen.”

        A high, animalistic cry rips free of your throat as the orgasm explodes through you, horrifying in its intensity. When you open your eyes, the spots dancing in your field of vision smear into odd shimmering streaks, further obscuring the room.

        His hand is still heavy against your sex, though motionless now. His hips press forward and back in the slightest of movements, barely noticeable. Tarn tilts his head down to press against your ear.

        “This makes me a xenophile too, don’t you see? A pervert. Just like you. I’m not supposed to feel this way, but I do. We were meant to be together. You were meant to be _mine_.”

        “I’m NOT!”

        The words come out as a screech.

        “Not yours. Not _yours_. I’m a human b–I’m a _person_. I don’t belong to anyone.”

        He laughs once.

        “You’ll come around,” Tarn whispers.

        He shifts his stance to press you closer to the wall.

        “I know you want to be filled with something more. Your body is starving for it. _You’re_ starving for it. Say the word and I can give you what you need. I’d let you push me down and ride my face until I beg for mercy. But only if you ask.”

        You’re drenched in sweat, but the tear tracks on your face are dry now. The adrenaline is starting to drain away. Tarn slides his hand up to cup your cheek, and the tips of his fingers are moist and tacky.

        “No.”

        He angles your chin up, forcing you to look him in the eye.

        “I said, ‘no’,” you spit, words quiet and wavering.

        Tarn huffs.

        “You’ll come around,” he repeats.

        And then, instead of continuing the assault, he sets you down on the berth and steps away. You rub the skin of your wrists and wince as the toy slides most of the way out. Tarn takes it from you when you remove it. You look away, not wanting to see what he does with it. It’s too much effort to stay upright. Shaking and lightheaded, you collapse on one side and curl in on yourself, counting breaths and squeezing your hands into fists.

        Tarn murmurs your name.

        “If you’re done, I should get you back to your room. I do have a schedule to keep to.”

        Historically, there have probably been bigger bastards than the commander of the Decepticon Justice Division. Worse men: men with bigger body counts and fewer principles. However, you never knew any of them personally.

        “Don’t…don’t touch me. I need a few minutes.”

        _You are the worst person I have ever met._

        “Of course. I’m ready whenever you are.”

        _I’ll_ never _forgive you for this._

        A little while later, you say a begrudging “okay,” and Tarn bundles you back against his chest. It isn’t until after he’s deposited you back in your cell that you realize you forgot to look around his habsuite for anything you might use in an escape attempt.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW the title sucks. I just wanted to dump this out in the world and be done with it.


End file.
